Tunnel Vision

by Andrew Christie

  Dave made his way back through the house again, wondering where Stevie was and why he had left the house open. On the kitchen bench, he spotted a photo of Stevie, grinning because he’d just won a race. Stevie raced rally cars when he wasn’t driving for Al. Could have turned pro if he’d wanted, according to his father. Right now, Dave wished he had. The white cat meowed at him and wound itself around his ankles as Dave put the photo down and looked at the electricity bill next to it. Stevie had a workshop in Toongabbie. That was where he kept his cars.

  The workshop was a low brick box in a light industrial area not far off Old Windsor Road. 4:09 shone from the dashboard clock as Dave drove past and pulled up beneath a big tree that shaded the streetlights. No one was around.

  The workshop had a series of roller shutter doors opening onto a wide concrete apron. The first of the doors wasn’t quite closed. Dave looked around; everything was quiet except for the occasional sound of a car in the distance. He squatted in front of the door, his gun resting along his thigh. The air beyond the gap smelled of engine oil and paint. And something else, something burnt.

  The door came open smoothly and quietly. Dave stayed down, hoping Stevie wasn’t waiting behind it with his Glock. A white Commodore was just inside, its hood up. A Mitsubishi rally car on a trailer and another car covered by a tarp were in the other workshop bays. Dave followed the flashlight beam towards the back of the workshop, squeezing between the cars, keeping his .38 clear and ready.

  At the back of the workshop was a room that probably had once been an office. Now it was occupied by a narrow bed, a pool table, and Stevie’s corpse.

  He hadn’t had a good death. He was naked, stretched out across the top of the pool table, his wrists and ankles tied to the corner pockets with electrical cables. His blood had soaked into the green fabric, turning it black. He’d been badly beaten, and his toes were black where they’d been burned. A butane torch lay on the floor next to the pool table. It looked like the killer had cut his throat at the end. Someone had found Stevie before the cops and had made sure he only talked to them.

  Dave backed carefully out of the workshop and closed the roller shutter as quietly as he could.

  Chapter 16

  Ten Hours

  Manny and Ruth flew from Sydney to Ballina. The Gold Coast Airport would have brought them closer to their destination, but the only seats available were on flights going to Ballina. Although the flight wasn’t that long—just under an hour and a half—Ruth complained the whole way: about the price of the flights, the extra cost for food and drinks, the delays, and even the attitude of the attendants. Manny couldn’t wait to get off when they got to Ballina. Ruth was right about how expensive everything was, but grumbling all the time wouldn’t change anything. He had expected the silly cow to be in a good mood after they’d found Stephen Munro. It was a lot quicker than Manny had hoped. And anyway, Ruth was usually on a high for a few days after she’d had a chance to question someone. True, Munro hadn’t known anything about the gold. There was no way he wouldn’t have told them if he did, not after Ruth was through with him. But he had told them about the money from the bank job, and this mate of his father’s. A man Stewart Finch had known as long as he’d been in Australia. A business associate. So here they were in the tropical north, looking for a Dave McPhedran.

  “Which way?” Manny asked, as he steered the rental car out of the car park.

  Ruth had a tourist map spread out across the dashboard. She glanced at it then turned it upside down. “Left.” She looked up from the map and peered out the window. “Yeah, left. It’s left.”

  “We want to go north,” Manny said. “Towards Byron Bay on the highway, then on to Brunswick Heads.”

  “I know. I said left, so go left, will you?”

  It was much hotter and more humid up here than it had been in Sydney, and the big Ford Falcon had been sitting out in the sun all morning. Even with the windows down and the air conditioning turned up all the way, Manny was covered in sweat. The road was wide and ran dead flat through bright-green fields. In the distance were blue hills beneath a sky dotted with fluffy white clouds that looked as though they were trying to join up into bigger grey clouds. The road took them through a light industrial area on one side and swampy-looking fields on the other. They crossed over a tidal creek and found themselves in an area filled with shopping malls and enormous car parks. “This isn’t right,” Manny said. “Where’s the highway?”

  Ruth shrugged. “Don’t know. This map must be wrong.”

  Manny pulled into the car park of the largest shopping mall.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To ask someone how to get to Brunswick Heads.”

  An hour later, the two of them were walking back to the car, each carrying shopping bags in one hand and a bottle of cold water in the other. Their dark English clothes were bundled up in the bags, along with a selection of new clothes more suited to the climate. Manny was wearing shorts, flip-flops, and a T-shirt with a surfing logo on it. Ruth eventually had found some loose-fitting dresses in bright orange and blue that she was happy with, as well as a pair of white sandals. They looked exactly like English tourists, with their new sunglasses and their pale skin, which was fine with Manny. One of Ruth’s bags contained an enormous bottle of sunscreen.

  They drove back out of town the way they had come. A bored-looking young man at a cable-TV kiosk in the mall had been very helpful with directions. “Brunz? You wanna go back past the airport, over the creek. Then keep on straight for about a kilometre or so, till you hit the highway. There’s a couple of roundabouts. You wanna go left then right, but there’s plenty of signs. Then straight up the highway, past Byron.”

  As Manny drove, Ruth smeared sunscreen onto her arms and legs. “What?” she said in reply to his look. “I’m not getting skin cancer.”

  Sally McPhedran looked tired; the muscles in her face were slack as she leaned against the frame of her front door. “My father’s place,” she told John. “I’m sure that’s where she’s gone.” Her voice was slow, the words still separate but not that far from sliding into each other.

  John wondered if it was drink or tablets. The woman had been under a hell of a lot of strain lately, and the little pricks running off clearly wasn’t helping her state of mind. He had rung her first thing in the morning to ask if she’d heard anything from Rashmi or Billy. She hadn’t, and she sounded so miserable that John had driven straight over to Annandale to talk to her. “Where does he live, your father?”

  “Brunswick Heads. I haven’t been able to get hold of him, never can when I need him. Story of my life, but that’s where Rashmi would go. I’m sure of it—she worships him. Always has.” Sally let out a little grunt that might have been a laugh. “She never had to rely on him.”

  John scratched at his neck. “Up the coast?”

  “Near Byron Bay.”

  “He’d let you know if they turned up there, wouldn’t he?”

  “He’s not there. I don’t know where he is. I’ve left messages…” She looked up at John, her eyes red, no colour in her skin. “What can I do? I have no idea. If the police…”

  “Why don’t you try calling your father again now? One more try.”

  Sally nodded and pushed herself away from the doorframe. John followed her through the house to the kitchen. The hall was lined with paintings that John presumed were from Sri Lanka. Colourful images, lots of almond-eyed women in saris. Buddhist monks in orange robes, surrounded by big tropical flowers. All neatly framed. White frames. The living room and kitchen were bright and full of light from the big windows. White walls. The place reminded John of a designer holiday house except for the dishes piled on the sink and the dirty pots on the stove. In the living room, piles of newspapers were stacked on the lounge, replacing the cushions, which had spilled onto the floor.

  John perched on a stool while he watched Sally call her father. After a moment of listening with the phone to her ear, she looked at him and
said, “It just goes straight to voicemail.” She raised her voice and said into the phone, “Dad, it’s me again. Where the hell are you? Call me. It’s urgent.”

  “That’s his mobile? What about the landline?”

  “Same. I’ve left messages on his answering machine.”

  “E-mail? Facebook?”

  Sally shook her head. “He’s never owned a computer. Doesn’t believe in them.”

  John stood up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You sure there’s nowhere else Rashmi might go?”

  “Can’t think of anywhere else. What about Billy? Does he have any bolt-holes?”

  “My place. Usually. I checked at his mother’s and his brother’s. He’s not at either. Does Rashmi have access to money?”

  “She’s got her own bank account. There’s probably a couple of thousand in there…more maybe. What about Billy?”

  “He’s got money in the bank too. No idea how much, probably not a lot. Can you check Rashmi’s account?”

  “No. I don’t know her account number or password.” She turned away from John and looked out the window, at the bright-scarlet flowers of a bougainvillea growing along the side fence. “I don’t know what to do. What should I do?”

  “You should stay here,” he said. “Be here if she comes back. Try to fend off the police. I’ll go up the coast and see if I can find them. What’s your father’s address?”

  Relief washed over Sally’s face as she turned back to him. “Thank you. I…I don’t know what… There’s no one I can talk to.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll find them. Hopefully before they manage to get in any more trouble.”

  “Let me get a pen. I’ll write down his address.”

  John drove back to Camperdown and found Shasta in the back garden, putting washing out on the line.

  “Really?” she said, when he told her he was going to drive up the coast as soon as he threw some clothes together.

  “How long will you be gone?” she asked, bending down to pull a damp T-shirt out of the washing basket and turning away from him to peg it up.

  “Do you want to come? Drive up the coast together? Make a road trip out of it?” He knew she had the next couple of days off while most of her clients were away for the holidays.

  “Umm…how far is it?”

  “Ten hours? Something like that.”

  “Jesus. Why don’t you fly?”

  “Everything’s booked up. I checked.” John passed her another wet T-shirt. “You don’t want to come then?”

  “No. Sorry, babe. This is about you and Billy.” She kissed him on the cheek. “We can do something together when you get back. Something that’s just about us.”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  Chapter 17

  New Boyfriend

  Billy lay in bed, worrying. They’d been gone from home for two days now, and all he could think about was who’d be looking for them. Rashmi’s grandfather still hadn’t shown up, and they couldn’t keep waiting for him. Brunswick Heads would be one of the first places the Sydney police would check. Probably get the local cops to come knock on the door. They needed to be gone before that happened. The sooner the better. This morning.

  He didn’t know much about this Toolongolook place Rash kept talking about, but it was better than staying here. The cops might miss it if her grandpa didn’t talk about it much, if it was kind of a secret, like Rash had said. Her mum must have known about it, but it was the cops they really had to worry about. If they found them, it was all over. He and Rash had been here too long as it was; they had to move now. Should have gone yesterday instead of going to the beach and lying around watching movies. It had been fun, just the two of them, like a holiday. It had let them forget why they were here for a few hours, but still, they should have gone.

  When Rashmi finally woke up, she agreed. “Yeah, I know,” she said. She rolled onto her back, putting her arm out across the narrow gap between the beds and grabbing Billy’s hand. “It’s been nice here, though, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Billy looked down at her hand in his. “It’s nice, but we can’t stay. It’s the first place they’ll look.”

  “I know…”

  “We might as well have not left if we just stay here. They’ll come and take us back to Sydney.”

  She let go of his hand. “Okay, yeah, I know. You don’t need to keep saying it.”

  “It’s just—”

  “Yeah, I know. I know, okay? I’ll go talk to Kurt, see if he can give us a lift.”

  After breakfast, they walked the short way down the street to Kurt’s house. It was a two-storey place, mostly garage downstairs with steps at the side that led up to a high veranda across the front. The garage doors were open, and Billy saw that the walls were lined with surfboards and fishing rods.

  Upstairs, the wide veranda looked back out over the street. “Hey, Kurt, are you there?” Rashmi called, as she knocked on the wood-framed screen door.

  Eventually the door swung open, and a big dreadlocked head emerged from the shadows, followed by broad sun-browned shoulders and a chest covered with a fine layer of blond fur. Kurt was wearing a pair of faded board shorts and had a tea towel draped over one shoulder. His deeply tanned face split into a wide grin when he saw Rashmi. “How you doin’, darling? It’s been too long.” He put his arms around her in an enormous hug, lifting her up. “Love the hair. You up here for the holidays? And who’s this? You got a new boyfriend now? Am I going to have to kill him? ’Cause you’re all mine, baby.”

  Rashmi laughed and hit him on the arms till he let her go. “This is Billy. We’re not… He’s not my boyfriend.”

  Kurt looked at Billy, tipping his big head on its side as he studied him. Billy felt himself turn red but couldn’t do anything about it

  Kurt turned back to Rashmi and smirked. “If you say so, darlin’.” He stuck out a large hand in Billy’s direction. “Hello, boy. I’m Kurt, and I’m this girl’s boyfriend. Have been for a long time. Since she was a baby.” He smiled as he slapped Billy on the shoulder. “Don’t worry…I’m probably not going to kill you.”

  Billy wasn’t sure he believed him.

  “So what’re you two young ones up to?”

  “We’re trying to get up to Toolongolook. Grandpa was supposed to take us, but he had to go to Sydney, so we’re stuck here. I wondered if you weren’t too busy, maybe you could take us up there? We were planning to spend a couple of days camping up in the shed. Grandpa will meet us there when he gets back.”

  “No worries, girl. I have to go up to Kyogle today anyway. Irrigation systems always breaking down. I can drop you two off easy. No problemo.”

  “When are you going?” Rashmi asked.

  “Now. Just as soon as I can get some shoes on. Are you two children ready?”

  Billy ran back to the house to grab their bags and lock up. Five minutes later, he was hauling the bags out to the street when Kurt and Rashmi drove up in a green four-wheel-drive truck that looked like it had been around much longer than Billy or Rashmi. He threw the bags in the back, on top of a pile of coiled irrigation pipe, and climbed into the cab next to Rashmi with her shoulder bag and his camera.

  Kurt had put on a pair of black wraparound sunglasses, but he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. He drove one-handed, his other hand fiddling with a tiny MP3 player dangling from the dashboard on a white cable. Eventually he found the track he wanted, and deep tribal music boomed out of speaker boxes behind the seats. After crossing the motorway, they climbed up into the hills on narrow, winding roads. Everything was covered with bright green, all the grass and the trees looking lush and full of life. In the few places where Billy saw bare soil, it was a deep orange colour. In the distance, he caught glimpses of sharply pointed mountains, like something out of a fantasy novel. He wished they could stop so he could take some photos, but he didn’t think Kurt and Rashmi would want to wait around for him.

  The truck was too old to have air conditioning, so they drove
with the windows down and the music thumping. There was no chance of talking, which suited Billy. He didn’t think he and Rash would be able to keep their story straight for very long if they got into a proper conversation. Even with Kurt.

  The road wound further into the hills, and the trees got bigger, eventually closing over the top of the road and shutting out the sunshine. After they crossed over a high ridge, Kurt turned off onto a side road that took them up a valley dotted with little farms. The further they went, the further apart the farmhouses got, with larger paddocks and more bush between them. The road wound and climbed up the side of the valley and onto an open ridge, where Kurt pulled into a driveway closed off by a big gate. A sign on it said, toolongolook.

  Beyond the gate were bright-green paddocks dotted with brown cows and a track that disappeared over the hill. After a moment, Billy realised that Kurt and Rashmi were both looking at him. “You have to get out and open the gate,” Rashmi yelled over the music. “And close it again after we’ve gone through.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Billy opened the door and slid down out of the truck. He’d never been on a farm before, and it took him a moment to work out how the chain latch on the gate worked and which way the gate swung. He stood holding the gate open while Kurt drove past, then swung it closed and tried to put the chain back through the gate frame and onto the post. It seemed to have gotten shorter since he had opened it, and he had to lift the gate a little to get it latched again.

  They drove over two more hills before the track they were following stopped at a couple of sheds. “This is it,” Rashmi said to Billy in the sudden quiet after Kurt turned off the music. “Welcome to Toolongolook.” Billy looked out across the brown dirt of the yard, to the cows on the other side of the fence, their big faces and ears turned towards the truck.